


The Years Between

by Cyberbutterfly



Category: Terminator - All Media Types, Terminator Genisys (2015)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4616958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberbutterfly/pseuds/Cyberbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion Piece to Vija- Thorn's 'The Future is Never Set' in Fanfiction site. This will make no sense if you haven't read that.<br/>John Connor is a man out of time, waiting to reunite with his family in the year 2017. There is a lot to be accomplished in the years between 1984 and 2017. But the resistance leader has never been one to idly sit back. Unfortunately, neither is Skynet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tomorrow Never Dies

**Author's Note:**

> Authors Notes: First, a MASSIVE thank-you to Vija-Thorn for letting me play in her sandbox, and write stories based on the events in her fantastically written story. PLEASE READ Vija-Thorn’s story ‘The Future Is Never Set’ or none of this will make sense! That, and if you don’t your missing out on an awesome piece of Terminator: Genisys fiction and the world will be a darker place for you because of it.  
> This story is an account of what happens in the 33 years between 1984 and 2017 when John and Pops lived/fight/survive waiting for Sarah and Kyle to appear.  
> All characters and plot are used with permission from Vija-Thorn.

This chapter is set immediately after chapter 2 of ‘Future’ and is, in fact, a reflection of that chapter set from the POV of another character. If you haven’t read ‘The Future Is Never Set’ this chapter especially will make no sense whatever.

* * *

 

**Year 2029**

 

Even as the spinning metal rings blurred Skynet was calculating trajectories and odds at a rate that would be staggering for anyone with the intelligence to appreciate it. It had already concluded that stopping John Connor from travelling through the temporal portal was impossible.

Killing John Connor as he did remained probable.

It raised its weapon and fired, the bullet sliding neatly between the spinning rings and piercing John Connor’s shoulder in an upwards arc. And then the resistance leader was gone, and the time displacement devise squealed ominously. Skynet frown and reached out, quickly shutting down the controls just as a surge of power ripped through them. For a brief moment the settings rapidly shifted before blacking out.

The AI tilted its head and studied the now stopped devise; there was a flaw in one of the rings. It walked forward, hand tightening around its weapon. Buried within the ring were the shattered remains of a bullet. With a probability of 4689.43 against, the bullet had passed through John Connor instead of lodging against bone and causing the magnetic field to rip the resistance leader apart.

It wasn’t until Skynet heard the sound of grinding metal did it look down and realize it had crushed the gun in its hand. It tossed the useless item away and pried the bullet from the ring. It flung that away as well. The damage to the ring was insignificant- it was the presence of the foreign metal within the magnetic field that had truly wrecked havoc on the device.

Skynet turned, walking back towards the control panel when suddenly it was wracked with, what it could only assume pain. It dropped to its knees, confusion turning to mild shock when it lifted its hand to see its nanotech components shifting and churning. Its body was slowly degrading at a subatomic level for no logical reason. Error messages flashed through its consciousness as the AI struggled to find the source of the integration inaccuracies. Then it was hit by a wave of searing static backlash that ripped through it very code, forcing Skynet to watch helplessly as foreign, alien script began to reshape it existence. Protocols were becoming muted, distorted, and events long recorded in its database were suddenly changing.

Then the AI understood.

It was not itself that was in error. It was **time** that was malfunctioning. Error messages repeated as a random information recall flashed.

_For the past determines future events, but an approximated, altered past does not adhere to a previously approximated future; in New York a butterfly flaps its wings and in Miami there is a hurricane._

In intercepting John Connor’s plans to use the time displacement device, it had deemed the sending of one human back in time as a ‘necessary risk’. The action had lulled the resistance leader into a misguided sense of victory. That was why he’d sent the T-1000 back further as a counteractive. It rendered the humans actions pointless, and acted as an alternative should the experiment with the resistant leader fail. Skynet hadn’t factored in the potential time distortions should John Connor himself ever successfully travel.

It was facing the real probability of a world in which it did not- had never- existed.

The AI shut down all superfluous systems and forced itself back on its feet. Time was critical; if it was not within the machine in approximately 26.2 seconds it would no longer have the physical integrity to safely use the device. It stumbled to the controls, channelling 55 percent of its stored power reserves to force a reboot, while using a small amount of nanites to restore critical systems. It watched detachedly as its right legs function drained to 32.1 percent operational capacity. The device remained black 2.5 seconds and then a green light beeped on and off. It was a further 4.6 seconds before the time displacements systems reactivated.

Skynet frowned at the malfunctioning controls, watching as the date shifted between several possibilities. The three most predominate dates were acceptable enough, and the AI simply had no more time for further repairs. It activated the device and stepped forward, channelling all remaining power into maintaining outward structural stability.

The rings began to spin, and then to race and Skynet could feel the magnetic pull ripping a hole in reality at the same moment it felt itself being pulled through. It was an interesting experience.

It arrived at unknown destination in the center of a circular wave of electricity and power. It would not be erroneous to say Skynet was mildly unbalanced. One moment it had been on the verge of cascade failure, now it was whole and completely operational. The AI was functioning outside the parameters of currently established and upcoming cause and effect. It had been saved by a temporal paradox; by the fact of its existence in this time line, it ensured the possibility of its continued existence in future, which ensured both system and structural stability of its physical body.

Skynet stood up, testing its physical design by flexing its fingers experimentally as it scanned its internal systems; fully functional, although it would soon require more power to remain so. It looked up at the city around it and frowned. It knew approximately where it was, but it didn’t know when, and it didn’t know the full range of discrepancies between this timeline and its own. It was going to have to learn everything, set events in motion to correct the errors, and then deal with John Connor; personally.

Skynet was intrigued to realize it was experiencing slight pleasure at the idea.

“…Ah, whoa… Naked. I mean, whoa, okay. Um, Mr? Yeah, are you? Are you alright?”

The AI turned around to see a young adult male who was standing just outside a driver’s side door with one hand on it as he shifted from foot to foot. Skynet tilted its head and studied the human, then looked down at itself and effortlessly shifted its outside appearance to mimic the clothing the male was wearing. The human took a step back, eyes widening.

“Holy shit…”

The AI strolled forward quickly, letting its right arm shift into a blade. Before the human could fully react, it plunged the blade through the male’s chest. The human tried to speak, but could only manage to gurgle through a mouthful of blood. Skynet withdrew the blade and pushed the male back as he leaned down to scan the interior of the car. He reached in and lifted the wallet from the passenger seat.

Current inventory stock: an underpowered and cheap vehicle of questionable design, a laptop with an insultingly inefficient operating system, and a wallet with little cash and a driver’s license declaring it belonged to one ‘Alex Major’. Skynet tossed the wallet back into the car and got into the drivers seat.

For now it would suffice.


	2. A New Day in the Old Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place immediately after Chapter 9 of Vija-Thorns story 'The Future is Never Set' (Located on fanfiction site) and is a direct tie in to the events of that story. If you haven't read at least up to that point in 'Futures' NONE of this story will make sense.
> 
> Takes place in a timeline where- in the future- Judgement Day occurred in the year 1997. John Connor became the leader of the resistance at the ripe age of 12.
> 
> All characters and the world they inhabit are used with permission from Vija-Thorn

**Year 1984**

By the time John had stopped running, he was soaked in blood, his heart felt like a jack-hammer, and his breath was coming in short wheezes that left waves of black spots dancing across his eyes. And judging by the metallic taste every time he exhaled his lungs were probably a mess.

He took in his surroundings, zeroing in on a series of drainage systems used for water run off; it was a quick jog to get an up close look. Luckily they were dry and the dark passages offered a degree of protection and seclusion. He winced as he climbed into the narrowest drain, his wound flaring at his bent position.

Once he was far enough in to be confident the T-800’s scanners wouldn’t be able to detect him, he slide down into a sitting position, and took stock of the situation. He was alone and lost in a decade he only remembered in the vaguest of details, his body was a mess, and he was exhausted to the point of passing out.

On the bright side, the wound in his chest had gone from constant _searing_ agony to a constant **thundering** agony.

He wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or scream- but years of experience had taught him any kind of excessive noise was never a safe option when you were being targeted by a machine. And all either would accomplish is to make his wound even more painful.

He shifted, propping his left side against the wall- relieving his damaged body from rough surfaces- and bringing his knees loosely to his chest. It would keep him from sliding down, and allow him to use his arms as a makeshift pillow. Testament to his life that this didn’t come close to being the worst place or position he’d ever had to sleep in. He could feel the exhaustion taking hold as the nanotech did whatever it did. Still he resisted. He needed to be ready to act; needed to form strategies and counterattacks to the eventuality of the T-800 confronting him. It would happen. The machine wouldn’t stop hunting him; they _never_ stopped.

His eyes were already closing and his thoughts already drifting before he realized he was falling asleep.

* * *

 

**Early Year 1998**

_“What the **hell** were you thinking?!”_

_He’d known this was coming, so he was surprised to find it still felt like a slap to the face. Actually, he was pretty sure a slap would hurt less. But she wasn’t the only one who was angry, and that did a lot to numb the pain. He squared his shoulders and stepped forward._

_“I was thinking that if you’d just let me handle it, then my mother wouldn’t have had to play decoy to a homicidal toaster on wheels in the first place. I was **thinking** that maybe she should stop assuming that other people’s lives are worth less than mine!”_

_“I wouldn’t have had to take the risk if you hadn’t made a hot headed, overly emotionally decision without once thinking of the consequences. It’s time to face reality John- you are the leader of the resistance. And that means our lives **are** worth less. Dear god, you **have** to be smarter than this! You can not risk yourself; you’re too important to sacrifice for something as insignificant as a couple of scavengers.”_

_John threw up his hands, his voice rising in a cracking warble that was just another fantastic part of his life right now._

_“I already told you, I’m not going to be the guy who sits back and **watches** as machines rip apart a couple of kids, just because I might get hurt... So, please, for the love of god **can it** with that ‘mission priority’ shit! I mean- Jesus mom- I'm 12 goddamn years old. Forgive me if I want to give it another few years before I’m okay with sitting back and just letting people die- including you- just on the principle of me being ‘the great John Connor’.”_

_His mother set her shoulders._

_“They know what they signed up for... And, yes, you saved those kids. Someone still died, only instead of a couple of kids it was a trained soldier who could have made a difference in the next battle... So you better start damn well weighing the cost of your choices.”_

_She leaned in, voice going low and hard._

_“Maybe if you did, I wouldn’t have to ‘play decoy’ to make sure that one soldier was the only thing we lost... I don’t need or want your protection, John- I can take care of myself... It’s time you did the same.”_

_“...Thanks for the pep talk, **mom** ; love you to.”_

_She walked over to the table- fastening straps and slamming her gear into pockets angrily._

_“Grow up, John. It’s not about what you want anymore. Now it’s about doing what you have to do to make sure Skynet doesn’t wipe out the human race.”_

_She sighed, and her voice softened a bit as she turned slightly to regard him._

_“This is war; us or it... These people need you- the world needs you- because you are the only one they’ve got. **Don’t** make its job easier by letting sentiment get you killed.”_

_John swallowed thickly and let out a breath._

_“But... They were kids...”_

_Sarah slammed her hands on the table._

_**“Wake up, John!”** _

* * *

 

**Year 1984**

John lunged awake, up and in a defensive crouch before memory reminded him where- and when- he was. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then another.

“O-Kay.”

He rubbed his face then let out a strangled chuckle as he sat back down.

“Jesus...”

Shaking off the dream/memory he felt the front of his shirt. There wasn’t enough light to visually check his injuries; but the blood on his clothes had hardened and dried, so he’d obviously been out a while. Reaching a hand under the shirt, he felt his chest. There were ridges and knots where scars had formed on the skin- but the flesh was whole and a test of twisting his torso in different positions assured him that the wound was sealed. Breathing still felt a little rough, but not hinderingly so.

One interesting development- for the first time since jumping back- he was mildly hungry.

Inspection complete, he stood as much as he was able, edging his way towards the opening. Training and paranoia made him ghost his feet across the ground in an effort to move soundlessly. As he neared the exit, the darkness outside confirmed he’d been unconscious a while. Now was the moment of truth. It was possible the T-800 had tracked his blood trail from the truck to this location and was simply waiting. Searching the tunnels personally would have been cumbersome, and unnecessary. All it had to do was wait for him to leave.

John looked into the darkness behind him. There was faint air circulation, which meant the tunnel had another exit. Unfortunately he didn’t know where that was located. His pants might be dark enough to hide the blood, but his shirt was saturated and torn. If the other end dumped out into an open, populated area he would have a lot of explaining to do.

He turned forward and took a deep breath, centering himself even as he braced his legs. Then he tensed and shot forward, lunging out into the open and towards cover in a tuck and roll manoeuvre that was almost as instinctual as breathing. He slammed his back against the concrete block and assessed his surroundings. The terminator was nowhere in sight. He tipped his head back, letting it lightly thump against the stone, as he exhaled. He’d either been very lucky, or the T-800 hadn’t deemed him a priority threat.

Now he just had to figure out what his next series of moves were.

The first one was easy enough. He needed to clean up and acquire a fresh pair of cloths; preferably several pairs as well as other basic supplies. He would also need money. John sighed. Earlier in the week he’d spent some time looking over local maps to try and get a rudimentary sense of layout, but none of them had store locations. For now, he would just focus on finding the edge of the warehouse district- he knew that at least- and then figure things out from there. With that John got up, turned left, and started to walk.

* * *

 

_“Connor, only an idiot forgets the surest way to stay alive out there is to think fast and move faster; but every once in a while- it’s a **hell** of a lot better to be lucky than good.”_

Perry had told him that once, and it had been made all the more memorable because life occasionally proved him right.

Today was a day where luck was definitely a better ally than skill.

It was thankfully still dark when he arrived at the edges of the city- still without much of a clue as to how he was going to accomplish anything- and he happened stumbled upon a few shambled, makeshift homes. There had been a lone scavenger among them, but he’d taken one good look at John and immediately run. A quick look uncovered a worn but serviceable hooded sweatshirt, a dollar or so in change, and a drum full of rain water. It wasn’t clean, but it rinsed the blood and dirt off of his skin well enough. Then he continued to walk.

It wasn’t long before he’d come up to a covered bench by the side of the road with a sign reading ‘bus stop’ next to it. It had taken a moment, but then an old, faint memory clicked everything into place.

Public transportation.

He sat on the bench, hoping that it was part of a line that ran throughout the night. Ten minutes later, his luck was still holding. He’d had enough change to pay, and even managed to get a driver who was friendly enough to explain where to get off, and what direction to head in when he did. The occasional suspicious glances after he’d sat down were understandable.

He wasn’t exactly sure what time it was when he finally stepped off the bus, but the distant skyline was just starting to lighten. John cursed and picked up the pace; keeping away from the street lights and occasional late wanderer as much as possible. It wasn’t long before he glimpsed the outline of a series of buildings. Most were functional in nature- vehicle maintenance, building supplies, boats and fishing; he broke into a light jog when he spotted what he was after. The bus driver had said it would have everything he was looking for but wouldn’t open until 9.

Cabela’s Specialty Sports Outfitters.

The front façade appeared to be stone and wood, but the sides were corrugated metal. He edged nearer and circled around to the back, checking for surveillance equipment, motion and/or thermal sensors, and automated defences. After a moment of scanning the rooftops, he blinked then snorted when it occurred to him that most supply warehouses probably weren’t equipped with gun turrets in ’84.

He checked anyway.

After he was certain there wasn’t anything that would cause him to die horribly, he walked closer to the building. He’d hoped there would be a window conveniently placed- but apparently you could only expect so much from luck. Ironically, the solution came from the one piece of defence he could spot; a large security camera placed above a door beside a large, sealed loading bay.

He flipped the hood over his head, pulling so it hid as much of his features as possible. Then he ran up to the door, jumping up onto the metal railing on the right side and using it to spring board up, grabbing the camera’s supports that were mounted into the siding. The rig groaned threateningly- but held- as he pull himself up, using it first as a hand hold and then as foot support to get to the row of windows above. He sent out a silent plea that his luck would hold just one more time as he shot out his fist, smashing the pane and wincing as glass sliced skin. When the silence wasn’t broken by the scream of alarms, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and hoisted himself up just as the mounted camera ripped away from the wall and crashed to the ground.

It wasn’t exactly an easy fit getting through the opening, and going head first through a sharply edged opening onto a concrete floor 12 feet below assured the tech in his body was going to be occupied for the next several minutes. But he was in the building.

There were a few low level lights scattered around the premises, and it provided enough illumination for him to traverse by. He canvassed the area briefly, but most of the supplies in this area were in boxes and the light wasn’t enough for him to read by. He simply didn’t have the time to visually inspect the contents. John sighed and made his way towards the front, keeping the hood over his face. When he got to the doors separating the two spaces he paused for a moment, then stepped onto the retail floor.

And gasped so hard he nearly choked on air.

The walls were dedicated to weapons; guns, bows, and blades. The open floor space seemed to hold every array of survival gear he could think of; plus clothing, boots, and rations. He was looking at enough equipment to completely outfit every man, woman, and child for half a dozen resistance cell factions. And this was just one in a series of stores.

“Holy shit.”

After another moment he shook himself and focused on the task at hand. First things first, he needed better lighting. After a quick look around he located flashlights and batteries; and with the batteries he discovered a new found hatred for hard plastic wrapping. The cabinet of knives assisted with that. Once the flashlight worked, he panned it around- zeroing in on the clothing selection. After finding a decent assortment in approximately his size, he grabbed a change of clothes and headed to the restroom; hoping discretion for their customer’s sake outweighed the need for security allowing him keep his profile hidden a little longer. It did.

Stripping down, he was pleased to find the cuts on his hands, arms and side were already healed. He used the sinks and soap dispensers to quickly wash his skin and hair. It wasn’t all that different from bathing in the future- only here he had soap and the water was actually warm. Not bothering to dry, he pulled the tags off the dark coloured clothing and got dressed, dumping the soiled remains in the trash. Feeling almost refreshed, he flipped up the hood on his new sweater, and got to work.

Within 20 minutes he’d gotten everything he could carry. 2 pairs of pants, 3 shirts, 2 sweaters,1 jacket, heavy duty hiking boots (now wearing), flashlight and batteries, sleeping bag, lighter, 4 flares, tarp, rope, multi-head screwdriver, compass, map, wrist watch (now wearing), pencils, notebook, first aid kit, food rations (he vaguely remembered beef jerky, he didn’t think he’d ever eaten an ‘energy bar’), small canteen (with water from the sink), a box of water purifying tablets, a Swiss Army knife, 2 well balanced blades, 1- .50 cal. Desert Eagle with 75 high velocity hollow point rounds, 1- .357 cal. Sig Sauer P226 with 100 hollow point rounds, 1- Henry Arms AR-7 with 50 .410 shotgun rounds, spare magazines for each, shoulder holster, thigh holster, and a black tactical rucksack to carry it all in.

He also grabbed a few items he figured would be useful for trade.

He glanced at the window front and frowned at the rapidly lightening sky. Hefting the sack on his shoulders, he adjusted the straps and went to the front door, throwing back the deadbolt before pausing. He couldn’t leave yet, not like this. It was stupid- John knew it was stupid; and pointless. He sighed with a low growl and turned, heading to the check out counter. After a seconds glance he pulled out a clip board and flipped the attached paper over. Grabbing the pen next to the register he wrote quickly:

**I’m sorry for the theft, broken glass, and damaged camera. If I’d had another option- I’d have taken it. These items will help keep me alive. Thank you.**

Knowing he was an idiot, but still feeling better, he walked back to the front door. This door was armed, and he knew he’d have minutes at most. Taking a look around, he planned out the fastest escape route and took a deep breath. Then he slammed open the door and bolted as an alarm shrieked out at the oncoming day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why Cabela's? Because it first opened in 1961 (so it existed as a chain in 1984) and I've actually shopped in one, so I knew it was a place he could realistically get everything mentioned and had a visual of the layout.


	3. Ordinary World- Pt 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Notes: Once again, THANK YOU to Vija-Thorn for letting me play in her universe with her characters. This is a direct tie in to her story ‘The Future is Never Set’. So reading that is necessary to understand what’s going on here (plus it’s a great story and you should definitely give it a read).
> 
> This is unbeta’d- all mistakes are my own.

**What has happened to it all?**

**Crazy someone say**

**Where is the life that I recognize?**

**Gone away**

Ordinary World by Duran Duran

* * *

 

The sun was well overhead by the time John reached the outskirts of the camp he’d backtracked to, and while his feelings of hunger hadn’t grown, they’d become insistent. He’d used the trek back to think about how the tech was altering him. He’d gone a week helping the T-800 without getting tired or hungry. After he got hurt- as the nanotech began healing him- he’d become exhausted. So logically the nanites could heal, but it was a tax on his body and took a lot of energy. After the injury was repaired, he was hungry. So if the nanites burning massive energy reserves to heal him caused fatigue, then could hunger be a result of the nanites needing to ‘restock’ the supplies they’d used? Or it might just be mixed signals resulting from the incomplete creation of a human/machine hybrid; or a simple malfunction. Without a full examination of his body, he wouldn’t know for sure- and he wasn’t inclined to play ‘test subject’ again any time soon. Or ever.

John shook his head and shifted his thoughts towards the incoming camp and his reasons for returning.

Life was hard in the future. People were forced to scavenge for what they needed, and between the constant threat of machines and lack of resources, death was a heavy presence. People fought bitterly if someone tried to steal from them, because it was literally a matter or life or death. Often either the thief or victim killed or maimed the other; and if the thief got away and left the victim alive- it was only to die slowly of starvation or exposure. If the thief failed, it could mean starvation or exposure for them. It was the main reason he’d quickly formed a ‘share and share alike’ policy within all parts of the resistance. And the people under his command quickly learned how rigidly he stuck to that; and the penalty for disobeying it.

They had enough problems with the damn machines killing people, he wasn’t about to allow at situation that assisted them with it.

He could justify stealing from the store. He didn’t have any other options at this point, and he was certain they had there own policies in place to cover the kind of loss he’d cost them. But the sweater from the scavenger had been different. He knew what living on the fringes of survival felt like; and that, when the weather turned, a warm sweater could be the difference between life and hypothermia. Plus, he needed information, and someone here might be willing to answer a few questions.

Eventually he caught sight of the shambled huts and he stopped, un-slung his pack, and rooted through it pulling out a sweater. Then he started forward, watching for potential threats even while keeping his shoulders relaxed and his posture open. He wasn’t sure if the individual he’d seen before had returned or not- but he didn’t want to scare anyone a second time if he didn’t have to.

Entering the camp there was no sign of the man- instead there was a boy, around 9 or 10, and a scruffy looking mutt sitting next to him. As he neared the dog growled softly low in its throat. But it was a simple warning growl, not the instinctive snarling of a dog sensing a machine. It was surprising how much relief that noise brought. At the sound the boy jerked up, tensing as one hand slipped into his coat pocket. John slowed, then stopped, and held out both hands to show he was unarmed before raising the one holding the sweater a little higher.

“I took a sweater earlier. I just want to give one back.”

The boys gaze had been hard and suspicious. It still was, but now there was a bit of cautious surprise as well. He reached out and placed an arm on the dog’s front haunches. The dog stopped growling. John fought back a smile. The boy wouldn’t understand the reason for it, and it would do nothing to alleviate suspicion. Besides, there was pain in the attached memory.

John took another few steps and placed the cloth down on top of a drum, then stepped a few paces to the side. He cleared his throat and offered an apologetic smile.

“I can’t pay back the money I took yet. I will when I can.”

The boy blinked in obvious shock and then quickly schooled his features.

“He told me about you. Said I should run if you ever came back. Said you came lumbering out of the dark with the taint of Cthulhu all around and soaked in the remains of the sacrificed innocents. That’s a direct quote.”

John blinked. Thought about it, and blinked again.

“What?”

The boy sighed as he turned his head and stroked the dog.

“Frank, the old guy from last night… He sees shit how he sees it, and he’s got a head full of old books that give that shit some imagination. Whatever happened last night he’s convinced you’re the herald of Cthulhu.”

“That’s really not any more enlightening than the last thing you said.”

The boy looked at him like he was a moron. Considering how out of his depth he felt it was turning into a shared sentiment.

“Look, he’s off his block, alright... But he can recite Poe, Shakespeare, and Lovecraft stories for hours if you let him. He believes its all real- ghosts, demons, gods, angels- all that crap. Cthulhu’s his favorite though… You know- that weird octopus/dragon/human monster thing the dude wrote about?”

And it did click into place for him. He remembered a soldier who’d come back from wide patrol with a backpack ecstatic because of books she’d found in relatively decent condition. _Her name had been Hawkes; she’d been crushed under an HK’s wheels two days later_. One book had been a collection of stories from an author called H.P Lovecraft. It had been the name that made him curious. He’d read a few stories before deciding a fallout bunker in the middle of the machine Armageddon was not the place to read about vengeful cats, raging insanity, and creatures that lived in the shadows and fed on people; he hadn’t gotten to any part that talk about a creature matching the description. He was inclined to believe his nightmares really hadn’t needed that kind of inspiration.

He tried to think about his appearance last night from an outside point of view; coming out of the shadows- dirty, haggard, waiting for a fight, and covered in blood. It actually did sound like something out of a horror story. It was a wonder the guy hadn’t tried to kill him on principle. John sighed and leveled his eyes at the boy, letting him see the truth behind his words.

“Yeah, okay… Look, I got messed up yesterday. ‘Frank’ just happened to catch a glimpse of the aftermath. _Yes_ , I had blood on my shirt. **No** , I didn’t kill anyone, the blood was mine. And, no, I am in no way, shape, or form, a herald for some sort of monster.”

There was a traitorous part of his mind that suddenly whispered _‘yes, but that’s what it meant for you to be. What you still **could** become if the T-800 is right_ ’. He found that part and promptly strangled it because there was no way he was dealing with that crap right now. Preferably it could wait for the rest of eternity.

For a few moments they stayed locked in a kind of staring match, the boy obviously trying to come to his own conclusions. He patted the dog’s side.

“Don’t think I won’t fight back if you try to start shit, and Cat here will definitely take you apart if you tried.”

John turned to regard the space around them and turned back to the kid.

“I haven’t got a reason to ‘start shit’. I don’t know you, and I don’t want a fight. And if your worried about me coming after your stuff—“

He shook the rucksacks straps.

“—Good chance I have newer and better versions of it.”

His eyes went down to the hand in the boy’s pocket. He guessed it was a knife, but there were a few guns small enough to fit. Experience proved he could take a shot to the chest, but he wasn’t about to explore what happened if it was his head. And there was always the possibility the boy could turn out to be skilled, or lucky. John didn’t discount a threat just because it came in a smaller parcel.

The first- and last time- he’d made that mistake he’d been shanked by a nine year old girl who’d grown up in a death camp and was completely feral. He just hadn’t realized that until he’d reached out to grip her shoulder to get her to safety. As soon as she’d felt the contact she’d snarled and whipped around, jamming a twisted piece of shrapnel through his forearm before running off. Worse, the cut had gotten infected, and he spent a good part of the 6 day trip back to the compound fighting blood loss, fevers, and hallucinations.

When they’d gotten back, Kate had taken one look, sworn at him, and used what little she could of their dwindling medical supplies to make sure his stupidity didn’t kill him. So, he’d made it a principle to watch his back and be cautious around people he didn’t know, no matter what their age. He nodded at the boys pocket as he let a bit of steel into his expression.

“And that warning of yours swings both ways. I’m not going to start a fight- but I’ll damn well be the one to finish it if I’m forced to… _Understand_?”

They stared at each other some more. Then the boy nodded and removed his hand from his pocket to point at a crate a little ways across from him. John wasn’t overtly surprised. Suspicion kept people alive in the future; it kept people alive here. Trust wasn’t about convincing people you weren’t a threat- it was making them understand you weren’t a threat to **them** unless you had to be. Once that was realized it became possible to form a cautious type of camaraderie.

John took another look around and sat, dropping the pack beside him before pausing to replay the less important parts of their conversation in his head. He blinked and looked at the kid.

“You named the dog Cat?”

The boy shrugged, but there was amusement in the gesture and beside him the mutt gave a soft ‘woof’.

“Well, yeah. Calling him ‘Dog’ would have just been redundant.”

There wasn’t actually a logical argument to that, so John turned back to the sack and opened the top. He pulled out the canteen and one of the energy bars, studying it; apparently it was a fruit/nut substance mashed into a rectangle. It didn’t sound half bad. After a seconds thought he reached in and grabbed another, lifting it up and silently offering it to the boy. Another survivor’s guide trick to diplomacy- sharing proved intentions in a way words never could. The boy nodded, and John tossed it over. He took a bite of his own; gave it an amazed glance and practically inhaled the rest. Across the kid snickered.

“Dude, it’s a frickin’ granola bar; Stop looking like it’s an edible orgasm before this gets really disturbing.”

John coughed on a laugh, flipping the boy his middle finger momentarily as he pulled another from the pack and ate it. The boy laughed harder. Then he removed a small bag of beef jerky with a smirk.

“Kid, the last meal I had consisted of a colorless nutrient paste and a dried strip of mystery meat that no one dared discussed the origins of… There is no explaining the quality difference.”

The boy smiled and wiped his hands on his sweater.

“I’m just saying-- Oh, hey! Is that jerky?”

John’s smile broadened. It must be a survival instinct with kids of all timelines- be cautious but get while the getting was good. He held the freshly opened package out as far as he could. The boy stepped warily across the distance to snag a few pieces. John- on impulse- reached in for another piece and tossed it to Cat. The dog lunged forward, catching it in the air. He bit into his own. It was good, amazingly good, but he’d at least had an expectation of what it would taste like. He looked up to see the dog standing closer staring at him and licking its chops. When Cat realized he had his attention, it looked at the piece of beef in his hands and whined as it waged its tail. Behind him the kid snorted.

“Traitor.”

The dog ‘woofed’ but didn’t turn around. John reached out his hand and offered another piece to Cat. The dog hesitated a moment and then rushed forward, taking it and then darting back. But he didn’t go as far this time and his stance was open and friendly. John muttered a ‘good boy’ at it and then ate his own piece.

He was taking another look around when he realized the change the food had caused. It wasn’t like feeling full- he sort of remembered what that felt like- it was like, one minute he felt drained, less somehow, and then he wasn’t. He was suddenly… more. It was creepy as hell; he immediately decided he’d had enough. He tossed the half eaten bag of jerky to the boy, who fumblingly caught it in surprise. John waved off the kids question before he even asked, and kept watch while the boy ate.

“So- you drop in last night, freak people out, leave then come back the next day. Why?”

John shrugged.

“I told you- I took a sweater, came to pay it back.”

“Yeah, how very noble of you. Sweater returned, mission complete, why you still here?”

He sighed and turned to look at the boy.

“Because I need help.”

The boy raised an eyebrow then motioned for him to continue. John sighed again.

“I’ve got all the skills I need to survive in a wasteland. Need someone to form a resistance? Yeah, I can do that. Battlefield tactics? I dream about those. I can adjust military manoeuvres during combat without even slowing down… But all that skill isn’t worth shit here, for now at least... I’ve got no money, no identification, no backup, and absolutely no clue as to how the hell I’m supposed to begin to accomplish anything… I need someone who knows how to survive **here**. So, I came back to the only place I knew where people seems to be doing just that.”

The kid looked around at the camp, and turned back to him incredulously.

“You want to blend in and you figure _this_ was your best example?”

John snorted and waved a hand at himself.

“Exactly **what** have I done to suggest to you that I’m a functioning member of normal society? No, right now my plan is to just learn how to function on the fringes of it and work my way in. You’re here, you’re obviously surviving- ergo this is a good starting point.”

The kid just stared then snorted.

“Okay, fair point… But just what **exactly** are you expecting here?”

“I need someone to show me around. Teach me the basic survival skills for life city life in 1984… I need to know where I can trade goods for cash, and were I can earn cash when that runs out. I need to know where I can go for supplies and not have people ask questions. I’m going to need forged ID’s… All I need is a leg up and I can figure the rest out from there. Trust me, I’m good at survival.”

John paused; while he might be willing to keep things simple he wasn’t willing to outright lie to the boy. He needed to know the dangers.

And the reality was there was a good chance he was putting the boy in danger just by proximity. This camp was well within range of any search pattern the T-800 may have adopted to try and locate him. From everything he’d seen and heard, he doubted it would harm a child to get to him- but that wasn’t something he could guarantee.

The **cold** reality of his situation, however, was that he needed help and the boy was probably most likely to give it. The kid was lanky, but not starving- so he knew how to get food. His clothes were worn, but not falling apart or excessively dirty- so he knew where to get fresh clothes or at least wash up. And he was clearly intelligent, which leant itself to resourcefulness. And his age played to an advantage; old enough to understand how to survive in this timeline, young enough to have not totally severed the instinct of a hierarchy pack mentality. It was back to basic training and, as of this moment, the boy was the more experienced soldier. He would ask, he would learn, and he would make _damn sure_ to do everything in his power to protect the boy from any and all threats.

If the T-800 did show up he would make himself the bigger target, **force** the machine to disregard the boy, and run as fast and far as he could in the opposite direction. John knew he was priority, if he left the boy behind- so would the machine.

He could make all the justifications in his head he wanted; the guilt didn’t sit any better then it did in the future when he was handing out guns and orders to 13 year old soldiers. But, just like in the future, he couldn’t let that stop him either. Empathy, sentiment, love- these were what separate humanity from the machines- but they could just as easily freeze him into inaction here if he wasn’t careful.

And these were the kinds of moments when quietly- in the back of his mind- he _hated_ his mother for giving birth and laying this all on **his** shoulders.

“Hey…. Earth to old dude.”

John blinked, shaking himself out of his spiraling thoughts, and snapping his attention back to the boy.

“There’s a catch… I being hunted, and being near me might draw attention to you.”

The kid eyed him warily, squinting.

“You mean, ‘cause you stole stuff.”

John shook his head.

“No, the police aren't the problem. But something will come after me; I told you I got messed up yesterday, well, I wasn’t screwing around and neither was it.”

“So- what’s, uh, _it_ look like.”

“It’s tall, over 6 feet, and broad; older looking. Posture will be rigid- like a brick wall decided to go for a walk. And it’ll have next to no expression on its face… Once you spot it, it’s all about how you feel. You’ll look at it and think ‘wrong’. There won’t be anything obvious to explain why you feel that, just a gut instinct telling you to run. _Listen_ to that instinct.”

John snapped his mouth shut when he saw the boy’s eyes getting bigger and his posture tensing. Cat had also gone back to sitting protectively by the kid. He rubbed the back of his head with a sigh.

“Damnit…. Look, sorry. Most times it’s a lot more natural for me to issue orders than have a conversation. I just want to lay it all out now, before anything’s agreed on.”

“Why do you keep saying ‘it’?”

John took a deep breath. In for a penny….

“Because it’s not human- it’s a machine. And, yeah, I know _exactly_ how insane that sounds.”

The kid was still cautiously nervous, but he also looked like he actually wanted to believe what John was saying. And, studying the boy, he realized he’d been wrong about the kid’s age; he wasn’t 9- he was probably closer to 13. John just wasn’t used to anyone that old having any lingering elements of childhood. It made the boy seem more innocent, and therefore, younger. It gave him hope. Here in this place, in this time, a 13 year old could still be allowed a glimmer of childhood.

“So…. What’s it called?”

“Terminator series T-800; model 101.”

“And you actually believe that shit?”

John wondered how to answer for a moment, and the pulled on the neck of his t-shirt, revealing the mass of scar tissue left over from yesterday’s attack. The boy’s eyes grew huge.

“Je-sus… How are you even alive?”

“I’m tougher than I look.”

The boy was silent for a moment and then looked thoughtful.

“Well, wait… If you know this thing is out there, shouldn’t you know how to kill it? I mean, you seem to know everything else about it?”

“You believe me?”

The kid snorted.

“Not really, no. But I’ve spent the last 2 years hanging out with a dude who believes there’s gods that look like toads living in the water, ravens that carry away peoples souls, and that the Grim Reaper walks around with a set of scales and a feather… Long as you keep your hands to yourself, I can work with crazy.”

John couldn’t help the bark of laughter.

“Gee, thanks.”

He turned serious.

“To answer your question, yes, I know how to kill it- but I don’t want to. It’s after me because it wrongly perceives me as a threat to the person it is assigned to protect. Another thing you should know about the T-800- it will _always_ try to complete its objective… You can’t reason with it, you can’t bargain with it, and it absolutely won’t stop…. So, if we do run into my ‘crazy delusion’- you run as fast and as hard as you can in the other direction. I don’t think it will have any interest in a kid who’s helping me, but I can’t guarantee. You let me take whatever hits it’s dealing out and you **run** ; run in a straight line and don’t look back.”

“Well if that happens, what’s you big plan to deal with it?”

“Me? I’m going to see what direction you bolt in and bug out in the exact opposite direction. It’s going to follow, so hopefully I can do that while **not** eating a bullet in the process.”

“I could see how that’d ruin your day… So, you wait for this ‘thing’ to show up- and in the meantime you get your shit together.”

“That’s the plan.”

The kid was calculating something in his head as he regarded him so John just stared back. Eventually the boy spoke.

“Okay.”

John blinked.

“Seriously?”

The kid shrugged. “Well… Yeah… Look, you might be crazy as a loon in some ways, but I get the feeling that in the all parts that really matter you’re _scary_ levels of sane. I can work with that. So, big question now is- what’s in it for the guy who steps up as ‘teacher’?”

John shrugged off his surprise and opened his hands palms up.

“That’s up for negotiation.”

“Alright… You say you’ve got stuff to trade for cash, so we’ll start with that… You said you ain’t a murdering freak, and I kind of think you were being honest about that to. So, I’ll show you the ropes- but I get 50% of the cut from your trade.”

John leaned back and gave an incredulous laugh.

“Okay, full points for ambition, but keep dreaming; 10 percent.”

“Forty percent.”

“Fifteen.”

“Thirty.”

“Twenty- and I’ll cover any meals and other expenses while you show me around.”

The kid crossed his arms and hummed thoughtfully.

“And cover the muscle.”

“Huh?”

“Look. I get it, you need stuff and you can’t get it legally, fine. But the people you can get it from ain’t exactly society’s elite; people my age who tread into their backyards either ends up shot, stabbed, forced to work, or someone’s bitch… So if I am showing you the ropes, you’re going to make damn sure I come out in one piece; because if you can walk off something like getting shot in the _chest_ then a few thugs should be a walk in the park.”

John grinned. God, this kid was **good**. He respected that.

“Naturally; principles aside, you’re not much of a guide if you’re dead.”

The boy narrowed his eyes.

“Of course that’s if you’re not full of shit about your skills.”

John looked around as he slid his hand in the side pouch of the rucksack.

“How much trouble will I bring down around here from the noise of a gun shot?”

The kid startled and then checked his features with a shrug and a nervous glance around.

“No ones around to hear it.”

“Then pick a target. Whatever you want, just keep it within logical distance for a handgun.”

John held his breath. Sure, he’d loaded and tested the guns weight and handling. But the guns were new. New guns always took a bit of breaking in- and if the kid picked a target nearing maximum range, there was a good chance he could miss. He let it out when the kid pointed to a hubcap about 75 meters away. He pulled the gun, snapped off the safety, and lined up the shot as he stood up, firing when he was fully upright. The hollow point decimated the cap. Behind him the kid gasped out.

“Holy _shit_!”

He snapped the safety back on.

“Yes, I’m legit. And the gun was the fastest way to prove it- but it’ll be the last tactic I use if we do end up in a fight. These are stolen weapons and have serial numbers. Any shots fired will be traced right back to this gun; and I prefer to keep my ass off the radar as long as possible.”

The kid stared up at him.

“Who the _fuck_ are you?”

He held out his free hand.

“John Connor.”

The kid stared at his hand and then gave a ‘what the hell’ shrug.

“Erik.”

He slid the gun back into its holster in the pouch.

“Nice to meet you Erik.”

The boy gave a strained laugh.

“Yeah… Sure…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s side notes: Okay, so, John’s A+ child care skills with a thirteen year old homeless kid… In the future John leads the resistance. Life’s hard, so kids grow up fast. Basic training by 11, weapons training by 12, full resistance soldier by 13. He’s treating Erik the same way he’s treated every ‘child’ he’s ever talked to- like fellow resistance fighters and soldiers.  
> And considering his own childhood involved Sarah’s A+ parenting skills, it’s not like he has memory to fall back on for proper child care in an un-apocalyptic environment.


	4. People are Strange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Notes: First, thanks to Vija-Thorn for letting me play in her sandbox. This is a direct tie in to her story ‘The Future Is Never Set’. You need to read AT LEAST to chapter 9 to understand any of this story (and then you should continue reading because it’s awesome).
> 
> Longer times between updates are going to be typical from this point on. I’m back to work, so writing only happens when I find/make the time. (But chapter is extra long to make amends)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I know NOTHING about how to jimmy cars. So I just did as much research as I could into the make of the car (locking mechanisms and such) and made up the rest. 
> 
> Warning: There’s a ‘dream sequence’ in this one. Nothing specific, but if your bothered by disturbing images you can give that section a miss (it’s in the bold, italic font) without being lost for the rest of the story. All you really need to know is that John of 2008 is dealing with a LOT of crap, and his dreams are not fun places.
> 
> No beta- so all mistake are mine. (And I embrace them proudly before disowning them)

**1984**

They’d been walking for an hour, Erik leading, and he still wasn’t sure exactly what to make of the kinda, sorta, crazy dude. He was pretty sure John wouldn’t hurt him without a damn good reason, and close to sure he would actually keep any promises made. But that didn’t stop him from understanding the guy was whacked out in ways that defied belief.

John could cold fire a gun and nail a target without blinking. He screamed ‘I’m military’, and was sporting some serious hardware in that backpack of his. Plus the ‘don’t even try to fuck with me’ vibe he had going was actually pretty damn cool.

On the other hand, the way he dealt with the ordinary shit was weirder than hell.

Who didn’t know what a granola bar tasted like, or didn’t remember how to buy stuff in a store? Who acted like pawn shops were things of legend? Who talked about hot wiring a car like it was just another Thursday, but thought a dog bouncing around him wanting to play was strange? Erik sighed and waved a hand a Cat.

“You know, you could just throw the damn stick for him...”

“Why?”

Right now his working theory was that John was either an escapee from a secluded militia cult with an apocalypse fetish- because weren’t they all- or a disguised alien sent to Earth to learn about the culture; with or without plans for global domination in tow.

He was leaning towards ‘alien’. A cultist would have better social skills. Erik rolled his eyes and made damn sure John saw him do it.

“What do you mean ‘why’? Because he wants to _play_... Oh god, wait... Please tell me you **are** aware of dogs being a species on some fundamental level?”

Now John was looking at him like _he_ was the alien complete with impressively irritated glare.

_“I **know** what a frigging dog is!”_

Erik raised an eyebrow doubtfully and deadpanned.

“You sure?”

John shot him a look that definitely stated ‘fuck you’; in multiple languages. Eventually the dude rubbed a hand through his hair before pointing at the dog.

“He wants me to play fetch- _I get it_. I’m culture shocked, not a fucking moron... But where I’m from, resources were too scarce to waste on anything as trivial as ‘pets’. Dogs were just another survival tool- they didn’t play, they _worked_. And if they didn’t--”

John suddenly snapped his jaw shut so fast it clicked. The he looked away with a shrug and Erik slowed a little, coming up alongside him. The guy’s life had obviously sucked, but it also seemed like it might be interesting from the bits and pieces he’d picked up; and the guy gave a way a lot if you knew how to listen. Sometimes he gave away more when he was quiet. Erik nudged him.

“If they didn’t..?”

For a moment he didn’t think John would answer then he sighed and laughed softly. It wasn’t particularly nice.

“If they didn’t then it depended on how lucky we were. If a dog proved faulty at a critical point it could mean half a compound was executed by an infiltration unit. If we spotted the dud before something drastic happened... Well... Then there was a little more protein in dinner that evening.”

Erik nodded, then blinked hard as what the guy said hit home. He froze, having a hard time trying to figure out exactly what point this went from fun banter to seriously messed up.

“Wait... You **ate** it?!” Seriously, that was an **actual** thing? A thing _you_ did... You would _eat a dog_ if it wasn’t good enough at its job?”

John slowed and to look at him. The fact that the guy seemed slightly confused at just how horrifying Erik found the idea said more about ‘fucked up lifestyles’ than words ever could. At least he seemed to pick up on some of what Erik was feeling, because his response was, if not gentler than usual, at least a little more sympathetic.

“When starvation is a very real thing every day of your life- waste not, want not becomes general principle. We _sacrificed_ so the dogs who worked for us were treated well, because they saved lives- often at the expense of their own. But no one ever considered them pets, and no one got attached. We couldn’t afford that luxury... It has literally been almost _3 decades_ since I’ve seen a dog at anything less than high alert.”

Erik reached out a hand and watched as Cat bounded over, tail wagging furiously. He tried imagining living like that and couldn’t. Then again, he couldn’t imagine half the crap John talked about. For the first time in his life he found himself desperately hoping someone actually was bat-shit crazy because the alternative was probably worse. He looked up at John.

“Please tell me you are aware of how fucked up almost everything you say is.”

John chuckled, but it wasn’t any more humorous than the last time.

“I am aware.”

Erik scratched behind the Cat’s ear, before turning to look at John intensely. He got the feeling this was a ‘now or never’ point. And he knew he needed the truth; he just wasn’t sure what his chances of getting it were. He figured John would always give him answers when asked, but that wasn’t the same thing. Hyper aware of his surroundings as the man was it didn’t take him long to start staring back.

“Just spit it out.”

Erik paused. There was something in the way John spoke that told him to be careful. It reminded of a picture he’d seen- a nice, open landscape with a warning sign that said ‘Caution: Minefield’. Erik was once again reminded that ‘nonlethal’ didn’t mean ‘safe and stable’ as much as people might like. Sometimes he forgot that. He really shouldn’t. He sighed; he also forgot his metal detector and so it was time to start walking and hope for the best.

“John... Um... Look, the general principle of the streets is ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’; so on any other day you wouldn’t owe me shit in the way of an explanation- but... Considering you flat out told me someone _might_ try to kill me and that someone **will** try to kill you- this proves the exception. So, spill... How does a guy know the shit you do, and _not_ know everything else?! I mean, you keep talking about ‘where I’m from’, but with everything you’ve hinted at? Dude- from where I’m standing ‘where you’re from’ is more likely to be Mars than here… It’s time to fill in a big more of the back story.”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting in response, but a loud, patronizing snort wasn’t it. Erik growled softly under his breath. John must of heard because he snapped all his attention back on him; and he was suddenly reminded how eerily intense the guy could become.

“So, what? Telling you about one T-800 makes me crazier than a bag of cats- but telling you about an entire future full of machines, controlled by an evil AI overlord, with a little time travel thrown in for that extra touch of ‘ _well shit_ ’ is going to make everything I say sound calm and rational?”

And maybe the guy had a right to be annoyed, but that didn’t mean he was going to just take it. He stopped walking and whipped around to face the guy, pushing down every part of him that was shouting ‘don’t piss off the scary dude!’. ‘Scary’ people only got scarier if they realized their tactics worked. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

“ **Fuck no**... But whether I believe you or not isn’t a problem; what you believe is. Psychobabble 101- whatever reality you believe is true, that affects what you learn. For instance, you don’t like machines. Does that mean you’ll shoot every piece of tech you see, or is it just going to be anything you consider to be a ‘T-800’?

Erik huffed, angrily.

“I mean, hell, for all I know you think _bunnies_ are the devil’s minions... And for the most part- fine, good for you..! But I need to know when I can say ‘fuck it, not my problem’ and when we need to have ourselves a talk. General disdain for technology, whatever. Randomly murdering people you think are working for machines- that definitely falls under the ‘not good’ category… Hatred over all things lupus, well- _unlike dogs_ \- they **do** make good eating, so fire away. Anything more extreme and it means we are going to include a serious talk about the ‘do’s and don’t’ around Easter.”

Erik rammed his finger hard into the middle of John’s chest as he continued to speak.

“I told you, I’m used to living with crazy. I just need to know what parts of the crazy I have to watch out for so it doesn’t bite me in the ass... So you will damn well tell me what I want to know or you can feel free to **fuck off** and become someone else’s problem.”

It was hard to know from John’s look whether he was pissed or amused.

“Is that an order?”

“Your _damn right_ it is.”

Actually, now John looked like someone trying to appear stoic while also trying very hard not to laugh. Erik just flexed his finger and tried not to show how much jabbing the crazy bastard had hurt. Clearly the man had never heard that people’s bodies were supposed to **flex** under stern poking. After a moment John sighed and he looked away, expression going distant. He motioned Erik to follow as he started walking again. When he started talking, his voice was almost monotone and there was something about that, combined with his stance, made Erik’s spine shiver and try to curl into a protective ball.

“I was born January 19th, 1985 and spent my childhood being trained to fight a war my mother knew was coming...”

Erik blinked and turned to ask the obvious question, took one look at John, and promptly snapped his jaw shut.

“On August 4th, 1997 an advanced program called Skynet was brought online effectively removing all human decision from North America’s automated defences. Skynet began to learn at an unprecedented rate and became fully self-aware on August 29th, 1997. Humanity panicked and tried to pull the plug. Skynet retaliated and killed over 3 billion people. The survivors called it ‘Judgment Day’, but that’s only the beginning. What came next were the machines- and then things really got bad......”

* * *

 

**2009**

_Kate was dead... He could go on, he could lead his soldiers, and he could save the world like the good little slave to fate he was... But Kate was dead and nothing he did would change that. He’d lost the most important piece of himself, leaving just cold rage and the burning, calculated need to find Skynet and rip it apart with his bare hands._

_So, no, John hadn’t been thinking when he dropped down into the tunnels after the terminator. And then he’d saved the boy and been numb when the kid looked at him with wide eyes holding more hope and determination then he’d seen from one individual in years. He’d felt empty as he turned his back on the kid’s awed expression and motioned him to follow. And he didn’t look back at the sounds of quiet, cautious footsteps and padding paws fell into step behind him._

_It took three hours to explored the tunnels and finally come out into daylight; or what passed for daylight in this hell. It wasn’t until they were rounding towards a couple of the vehicles that he was jerked out of his non-thoughts by a soft, unsteady voice._

_“R-r-reese...K-kyle R-reese.”_

_John’s spine snapped straight so fast it audibly cracked. Every part of him froze, and it was all he could do just too slowly pivot on his feet to face the kid. A lifetime of knowing this moment was coming and he wasn’t ready; didn’t want to have **this** weighing down his shoulders on top of everything else. He could guess what came next, so there was no point in having the conversation; he spoke anyway. _

_“What was that?”_

_And if his voice came out sounding less ‘Resistance Leader’ and more ‘scared kid’ then that was between him and his issues._

_The boy- Reese, his goddamn **father** for Christ’s sake- bit his lower lip and reached down, petting the dogs head for a moment. It seemed to comfort him because when he looked back up he squared his shoulders and stood as high as his small stature would allow. When he spoke again, there was steel behind the nervousness. _

_“People talked in the camps. They said there was someone who wasn’t scared of the machines. That he was teaching people how to fight back... You’re him, aren’t you? You’re John Connor.”_

_John didn’t try to speak, he just nodded slowly. The boy raised a hand, bringing it up to his head in an attempt at a salute and John didn’t know whether he wanted to bolt or throw up; probably both._

_“My name is Kyle Reese. And I want to join the resistance.”_

_John closed his eyes. Those dozen words hitting him like a physical blow. For the first time in days emotions were breaking through his wall- and fuck, it **hurt**. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breath, and couldn’t think. Instead he swallowed hard and forced out the first words that came through a constricted throat and too dry mouth._

_“I know.”_

* * *

 

**1984**

He didn’t ask questions while John spoke. He almost had to bite his own tongue off to accomplish that, but he was proud to say he remained silent. The growing need to put his fingers in his ears and say ‘I’m not listening’ was getting harder to fight. He’d been prepared for a pretty high level of crazy; this was something else entirely. And the worst part was realizing he was most likely getting the extremely edited ‘Cole’s Notes’ version.

At first he’d let his mind try and see the future as John describe it. But watching someone blandly talk about real- or imagined- hell on earth as they mechanically played fetch with a dog was twisted enough without trying to _visualize_ the damn thing. That’s when he’d switched to looking at the ground and resolutely trying _not_ to imagine it. Worse, John had been silent for a few minutes now, and he still hadn’t worked up the nerve to look at anything but dirt.

It was absurd, completely unbelievable. Time travelling, machine killing soldiers from the future fighting sentient robots sounded more like a Saturday morning cartoon than a ‘sneak peak’ at upcoming events. But the way John talked about it made it hard to totally dismiss. And he’d heard enough stories from other ex-military types standing around fire pits to recognize the similarities in the tone and effect.

_PTSD- stock up today and beat the approaching Machine Armageddon rush!_

And he was aware enough to know John was watching him; more than likely waiting to see if he outright bolted. He still wasn’t sure whether he would- even while knowing that he **should**.

Right now there were only two realities. One- John was actually this crazy; in which case there was no way in hell staying around him was either safe or sane. Two- John was telling the truth, in which case it was _exceptionally_ obvious it wasn’t safe or sane. The only difference was that option one meant it was possibly John who would kill him, where option two meant he enjoyed the possibility of ‘death by psychotic robot’. Erik rubbed his face.

“Fucking hell, dude.”

He wasn’t sure exactly who he was addressing that to, or even what he was addressing by saying it. But he heard John ‘hhmmm’ in agreement then sigh.

“That ‘fuck off’ command of yours is still on the table, you know.”

Erik blinked and finally looked up at the guy.

“What?”

John smiled slightly and shrugged, and Erik wondered how much it took to act normal and keep putting one foot in front of the other with the head full of the crap this dude carried.

“Your words… Tell you the truth, or fuck off. Well, truth has been told. Now it’s up to you whether you want to stick with plan A or go with option B.”

He did almost run; _almost_. Every instinct was telling him to. But then he looked at John, **really** looked at him, and knew he wouldn’t; _couldn’t_ actually.

Standing there looking at John was just like when he first met Cat. The dog had been scared, scarred, and expecting rejection- painfully. But damn if the brave little shit hadn’t walk up to him anyway just asking for a chance to prove he was good for it.

And that was that. No matter what the truth of the situation was- he knew.

John- Fuck-En-A- Connor might be crazy, but it was the same look; the one that said if you gave him half a chance, he was damn well good for the rest. Course, there wasn’t a snowballs chance in hell he would be able to explain any of that shit to the guy, so instead he just smirked and pointed to an approaching fence in the distance. When in doubt, deflection was a wonderful substitute.

“Ah hell; look, where almost at the scrap yard anyway. The way I see it, after all the shit I’ve just heard and the walking I’ve done- I’ve **more** than earned my fucking 20 percent. So looks like I’m playing ‘babysitter’ for a little while longer.”

John smiled, and damn if it the dude didn’t look honestly happy. He held up his index finger.

“Plus food and expenses, least you forget”

Erik smirked.

“Damn straight… Hey, how long has it been since you had a Big Mac?”

John blinked and you could see him doing math in his head. Erik just chuckled and waved a hand. “Serious, if you even have to stop and think about it, the answer is automatically ‘too fucking long’… Okay, so first we get the car, then we get the coin, then we get our asses to the nearest McDonalds; because, dude, if you think energy bars are food sex just wait until you re-embrace the magic of fast food!”

* * *

 

**2009**

_John knew that Kyle Reese would eventually become a strong, intelligent, and resourceful soldier. He knew this because his mother told him, repeatedly. She had trained him in Reese’s image, so that he could train his father in return, so that Kyle could train Sarah. Which was headache inducing even on the best days. What he was learning for himself was that the kid had a career as a tracker/hunter if nothing else worked out. It had been just over two week since they’d successfully freed the camp, and nine days since arriving at their new base of operations._

_And his every step had been expertly shadowed since the convoy had arrived._

_He would walk down a hall and hear another set of footsteps, or be alone checking over equipment and feel someone watching him. He would leave a room, and come back later to find his things neatly organized. Once, when a nightmare had hit hard- he never could shake off the ones about Kate- he walked into the mess to see a warmed cup of water with his name on it-literally- with tea leaves in it. It had been nice; unrecognizable except for the mint, but nice._

_And not once had he actually managed to catch sight of Reese._

_Not that it was entirely surprising. Kids in camps got used to surviving through invisibility. When they’re small it’s the only chance they had against the machines; when they got big enough to work- it was a way to ensure they weren’t killed for food, supplies, or pure malice. Most kids brought out of the camps old enough to take care of themselves spent the first month or so watching from the shadows._

_Either they became confident enough to step out and become resistance members- in which case their skills for evading detection paid dividends - or they didn’t; and most likely froze or starved to death in a forgotten corner of the base._

_Reese was going about things a little differently. The newest reports from his men often included amused notations about talking to a strange boy who had endless questions- mostly focused on John. It seemed Reese had no problem interacting with everyone else, just not him. Given how adamantly he insisted on not caring or interfering with the kid’s life- it was ridiculous that he was staring to take it personally._

_So, he did what he’d been trained to do- he came up with a plan... While repeatedly reminding himself that he was only doing this so he could get a proper read on Reese before convincing the kid to become someone else’s problem._

_Everyone had a weak point- for Reese that was the dog._

_Training the animal had begun the moment they got to the new base, and as the dog accepted the fact the sun didn’t rise and set for Kyle Reese alone, it’d also begun to accept commands from others. For its part, the dog was showing itself to be smart, alert, and useful- but its loyalty belonged definitively to the boy. John knew the animal would ultimately prove an effective first line of defence against the infiltration units; but he also knew- when it eventually gave its life to protect those inside the bunker- it would be because of its love for Reese._

_So he’d gone to the med bay and quickly found what he needed within the remains of the still-to-be-laundered-and-patched pile of clothes from the death camp. Then he borrowed the dog for a ‘training exercise’ and had the dog scent a shirt he knew had Reese’s blood on it; then he just stood back and watch as loyalty and instinct took over. The dog uttered a small whine and shifted anxiously. All it took was one sharp, hard whistle of command and the animal was off like a shot. John trailed cautiously behind the animal, allowing it to search the hidden areas while he remained well out of sight. Reese wouldn’t reveal his location to a person, but John was betting he would for the dog. It was a while later, when the animal had begun to search a secondary storage bay that it gave an excited yip and charged forward. John watched from the shadows as the boy slipped out from a tunnel system he hadn’t realized existed in the bunker. Reese smiled and cautiously ran up to the dog, offering his hand. The animal licked it happily, tail wagging._

_“Hey girl, what are you doing here? Missed me, huh?"_

_John circled around the edge, cutting off the boy’s escape. Then he knelt down and cleared his throat. Reese leapt a good distance in the air, spinning in surprise as the dog guarded the boy semi-protectively. The Reese paled and began searching for an alternate exit. John knew he had to act fast or his only option was going to be manhandling him. Causing further trauma to children aside, the idea of forcibly subduing his 7/8 year old father twisted parts of his stomach he didn’t know biology provided. Unfortunately, now that Reese was here, he didn’t have a clue what to say._

_“Thanks… You know- for the tea.”_

_John debated face palming on principle then decided he should just be thankful that no on else was around to see this. Somehow he didn’t think ‘thanks for the tea’ was going to end up as part of his next great rally speech. Shockingly, though, Reese seemed to relax slightly. John waved a hand._

_“It... It was good... The mint and whatever else was in it.”_

_Fuck his life._

_He almost growled at himself and then bit it back. He was already demonstrating a staggering level of incompetence here, the last thing he needed was for the boy to think he’d gone rabid. However, Reese had taken a step forward and was looking at him with a small, shy smile._

_“The doctor gave all the kids a small bag of it and told us to use warm water. She called it ‘tea’ to... It tasted funny at first, but it was warm, so--” He shrugged. “Some of the other kids didn’t want theirs, so I’ve got lots.”_

_John watched as Reese slowly edged closer- amazed that **tea** was apparently an ice breaker when it came to discussions with traumatized camp survivors. He shrugged internally; whatever worked. Then he got an idea. John let a small smirk play over his features. _

_“Yeah? Enough to share.”_

_Reese looked at him calculatingly, and then gave a return smile._

_“Well... Enough to **trade**.” _

_The boy suddenly looked uncertain about the suggestion, but John burst out laughing. His mother had definitely been right about one thing; Reese was good at thinking fast on his feet. He nodded to the door._

_“Okay then. I’ve got to get the dog back to the defense line, but I’ll meet you in the mess in one hour. You bring the tea and we’ll talk trade.”_

_“Cameron”_

_“What?”_

_Reese scratched the dogs._

_“Her name- it’s Cameron. She’ll listen better if you use her name.”_

_John blinked and looked down at the dog, who looked back up at him and gave a small wag of her tail._

_“Right... One hour?”_

_The boy tilted his head for a moment, then nodded- bolting quickly from the room. The dog went to follow then paused as John gave a soft whistle. When she turned back he patted the side of his leg._

_“Come on, Cameron, let’s get you back.”_

_He turned to leave and smiled when her steps fell obediently in line with his._

* * *

 

**1984**

“And you’re sure the owner isn’t going to cause problems?”

Erik turned and looked at John who was studying the fence like it would attack at any moment. Then it occurred; in the future it probably would. He sighed and then shook it off, waving a hand at the scrape yard and snorting.

“Who, Daniel? Nah- the dude’s a drunk on a good day and a completely smashed drunk on every other. We could walk off with half the scrape and he wouldn’t notice. As long as we don’t touch the one right beside the trailer we’ll be fine… Actually, in a pinch, we probably _could_ use that one as long as we had it back before his next beer run.”

John just hummed and pulled back the chain link where it was cut. Erik went to tell him about the gate, and then just shrugged and slid his pack and then himself through, Cat following quickly behind him. The hole was small but they’d used it before when scavenging and he knew they fit. He got to his feet and turned to watch John shove his pack through before waving at the fence.

“No way in hell I get through there- at least not without donating a decent amount of blood.”

Erik had just opened his mouth to reply when John suddenly took two large steps back, bounced on the balls of his feet, then lunged forward, scaling the chain link and using the top of the fence to pivot his lower half up and over the razor wire. Then he simply released his grip and let the momentum and gravity bring him to the ground. Cat startled a little and barked once while Erik blinked in amazement for a moment because, _damn_.

Obviously that translated to his face because John just grinned cheekily as he slipped on his pack. Erik applauded mockingly and then motioned the guy to follow. John looked confused, but came willingly enough. It didn’t take long before he was pointing out the gate. It was in full view of the trailer, but that was a non-risk considering all the blinds where pulled. Besides, it wasn’t even securely locked today. Erik gave his own grin.

“Are we learning anything yet?”

The responding playful cuff upside the head took him by surprise and he yelped; then he stuck his tongue out and flipped John the bird accordingly. The guy chuckled and then looked around.

“Where did you say he kept the operational cars?”

“Over there. Still might have to cannibalize some parts, but most of these won’t take much work to get running.”

John nodded and jogged towards them. He slowed when they came close, giving each car a once over and dismissing them in turn. Erik wasn’t exactly sure what the basis for acceptance was; some he would kick the tires and shake his head, others he would push on the hood or trunk and reject. A puke green Chevy got one glance, a horrified ‘ugh’ and was immediately snubbed. Others got more involved inspections- and those were usually dismissed with curses. Eventually John walked away from the main group and turned to look at the rest, holding a hand to his face to shield his eyes from the low hanging sunlight.

Then he grinned like a kid in a candy store; or a cat who just saw a grounded, injured canary.

Erik quickly jerked his head around to see what had caught John’s interest, but frowned when all he saw was a dusty gray car that looked like it wanted to be sporty when it finally grew up. The metal was scratched to hell; it was dented in more than a few spots, and had a crack running across the entire bottom of the windshield. He rolled his eyes as John jogged over to it, pacing around the car enthusiastically. Erik made a point of slowly strolling to the car, his ‘I’m embarrassed to be seen with you right now’ vibe cranked to high. He motioned at the car.

“Really? This piece of shit- **that’s** the car you want?”

John jerked his head up, looking like Erik had just insulted his mother or something.

“Are you kidding?! It’s a _Delorean_ \- it’s practically a classic!”

“Hey- whatever you have to tell yourself, that’s cool.”

John gave him the finger with a playful growl and then cupped his hands to look through the window; he sighed exaggeratingly.

“Although it looks like they left out the Flux Capacitor in this one. **Damn** , I was really hoping that was a standard feature; it could have solved so many problems.”

Erik blinked then realized thought wasn’t going to make that sentence any clearer.

“Huh?”

John just waved a dismissive hand.

“Never mind. It’ll make sense in a couple of years- which is at exactly the same point you’ll learn just how _awesome_ this car is.”

Erik just patted John’s shoulder.

“Sure, future boy, sure.”

Then he went over to look at the car. The interior actually wasn’t that bad. Black leather seats, good tape deck, standard transmission. Maybe this actually had been a sports car in its previous life. Erik waved a hand at it.

“Okay, impress me… What’s so special about a **Delorean**?”

John gave him that ‘happy kid’ grin again.

“Okay, childhood nostalgia aside, these cars were semi-decent; stainless steel panels and fiberglass additions. V6 engine and light body means it can go 0 to 60 in 8 seconds. Early form of independent suspension so it’ll handle corners… Not to mention we’ll look damn good driving it--”

John trailed off as he walked slowly around the car, doing a lot of the same tests as he did with the others. Erik used the time to study the guy. Something had changed in the last hour or so, although he wasn’t exactly sure what or why. It wasn’t anything drastic or obvious- the guy just seemed more _himself_ or something; although he realized how little sense that made. Maybe it was because he’d finally told someone about his shit, maybe it was because he told someone who didn’t run; who the fuck knew. All he knew was that it was like the guy suddenly had a few curves to compliment his hard edges. He snapped out of his thoughts when John hefted his pack onto the hood, and looked at him.

“Ever broken into a car?”

Erik shook his head.

“Want to learn?”

He blinked for a second and then smiled.

“Fuck yeah!”

John pulled out a long, thin piece of metal. Erik looked at it in surprise.

“Okay, so the store that you took this shit from also sells Slims?”

“Nope. Just a piece of metal I found walking back to your camp. But you don’t need fancy equipment to do this- just something long and thin… All we need to do is add a curve to the end.”

“Okay”

John handed him the metal.

“The trick is to make it a smooth, even curve; so don’t try to get it all in one bend. Start about here and slowly arch the metal by degrees, taking a couple of passes to get it into a nice, tight half circle.”

He was probably going slower than necessary, but Erik eventually got the metal into a relatively decent curve. He held it up for John, who nodded in approval and motioned him over to the driver’s side door.

“Okay, so you want to have the curve on the left. Pull back the seal on the window and gently slid the metal down the side. Use the key hole on the door as a reference of where to aim; come at the lock wide and try to hook the locking mechanism. The Delorean has an electronic system, so you’re looking to hook the metal clasp that pins the door. You’ll know when you’ve snagged it."

Erik fiddled around, starting out cautious and then getting frustrated and swearing when he still hadn’t snagged anything that felt like it was what he wanted. Just when he was about to throw the damn piece of metal away, he felt another hand cover his own on the Slim; Erik jerked back with a growl instinctively and Cat immediately went defensive. John stepped back rapidly and raised his hands.

“What? Oh, **shit** \- okay. Bad move _; fuck_! That was wrong, and it’s on me- got it.”

Erik paused, unsure of what to say. Because John didn’t really know, so it wasn’t really his fault; but it wasn’t really okay either. The cuff had been different because he’d been at arms length and it was just there and gone, but too many people had just assumed Erik wanted to be touched and there was always the slim chance that John would prove no better. Probably not- but a _day_ isn’t really enough time to know a guy. He shrugged it off with a wave; there were things you just couldn’t explain.

“Just don’t do it without asking, and if I tell you to back off- _back the fuck off_.”

John’s hands were still in the air and he waved them in acceptance.

“I screwed up. Won’t happen again, I guarantee it.”

He dropped his hands and motioned at the discarded Slim Jim.

“Look, I know it can be tough finding the lock the first time you try to jimmy a car. If you’re okay with it, I’ll help you find the catch and then talk you through the rest.”

He studied the guy for a second before nodding, and this time John put his hand above his and guided the Slim down. Within a few seconds he could feel the tension as it caught on a piece of metal; he could feel the resistance and give in it. Then John pushed the Slim down and Erik felt it grip into a grove in the metal. John nodded and pulled his hand away.

“Feel that.”

“Yep.”

“Okay, now pull up gently until you feel the metal lock piece pulling up and away.”

He pulled, almost lost the hold, and the felt as it pulled up. He let out a breath.

“Okay, now what?”

John held out a small blade.

“Now you stick this in the lock as far as it will go.”

He grabbed it and jammed the knife in. John hummed his approval.

“Slowly twist the knife to the left until you meet resistance, then pull even more on the Slim, once you feel the resistance let up, gently twist the knife as far as it will go.”

Erik moved as slowly as he could, and was starting to figure he was still doing something wrong when he heard a ‘pop’ and was amazed when the car door opened. He’d done that- with his own hands and a bit of work. Then he clued into the fact that the door opened from the bottom. Erik watched as John lifted the door up, a hydraulic ‘hiss’ marking it’s ascent; a small part of him couldn’t help but think that maybe the car wasn’t so lame after all. John smiled at him, and he actually seemed proud.

“See- piece of cake… Okay, just let me get hit the passengers unlock and then we’ll look through and see if there’s a set of keys in here.”

Erik raised an eyebrow and John leaned in and flipped the lock pushing the passenger door up. He walked over to that side and slid onto the seat. He grunted when Cat jumped in as well, looking around before leaping between the seats into the tiny little compartment behind them. After a moment, the dog settled down and curled up to nap. Erik smiled before turning back to his question.

“Why would there be a set of keys in a locked car?”

“Second set, for emergencies.”

It still sounded wrong, and John smirked.

“Trust me… Glove compartment, visor, and under the mats- just give every nook a good once over.”

He started on the floor and worked up; which was fine until he got to the glove box and found it locked. He groaned.

“I’m not going to have to pick this one to, am I?”

John chuckled and shook his head, passing over the knife he used on the door.

“Nope, just wedge this in the crack where the lock is and lay on a little elbow grease. The latch is metal, but the part it locks into is plastic- the knife shouldn’t have a problem cutting through it.”

With that John reached down, popped the hood, and got out. After a few minutes- because _‘a little_ elbow grease’ his ass- he heard the latch snap and grabbed the lid, lifting it. He rummaged through the junk until he caught a tinkle of metal. After another moment he came out with a keychain and a couple of keys. Amazed he huffed out a laugh.

“Well, son of a bitch.”

He shot his hand out the door, holding up the keychain and jingling it. After a second John’s head appeared from behind the hood and he gave him a thumb’s up before motioning him over. Erik got over and stood with John.

“Before we try and fire this thing up, I want to check a few things I can’t just tell by eyeballing. Fortunately, this car’s in good shape. Batteries new enough, filters look good enough to get us to get us into town, and there doesn’t seem to be any cracks in the engine… lines look intact. I don’t think this things been sitting here too long, but I want to check the fuel tank; hopefully it’s been emptied. Honestly, though, why the hell the owner ditch it is beyond me.”

Erik looked at him solemnly.

“Truly one of life’s great mysteries, isn’t it?”

“Shut up- or I put you on fuel tank checking duty.”

“Funny how you assume I’d have the first clue on how to do that.”

John tilted his head for a moment and then dropped the hood with a smile, turning to look at him.

“There’s never a bad time to start learning, come on.”

* * *

 

**2009**

_“The kids from the camp are scared; they don’t come out to eat, so they steal food. They don’t have anywhere to sleep they feel is safe, so they stay in the tunnels. Some of the adults you brought from the camp tried to hurt us there. As long as they stick to fighting with the machines, I don’t care, but some of the others- especially the girls- have good reason to stay away.”_

_“Nobody is going to hurt them here- I won’t allow it.”_

_“They don’t know that.”_

_“Then tell them. Or tell them to come to me and I’ll tell them… Anyone who tries to hurt a kid in any way answers to me. Minor offenses get less punishment, major offenses means the perpetrator gets a shot in the leg and a boot to the ass- straight out the front door; no chance for re-entry.”_

_John looked at him._

_“You’ll pass that along?”_

_Kyle nodded and he returned the motion._

_“Good, now back to what you were saying, you want me to--?”_

_“Give them a few blankets and a safe out-of-the-way corner to sleep in. And ask the mess to leave a small portion of food aside for them. I’ll come and get it and pass it out. They trust me well enough and, if you give them time, they’ll trust you to.”_

_John sat back in his chair in the mess to regard the kid across from him. When he’d first met Reese his plan had been active avoidance. He passed him along to the nearest soldier and had walked away with no intention of ever seeking the kid out again. Right up until the Reese had made him curious enough to go looking._

_He’d been played. It had been subtle, slow, and without malice- but he’d been played just the same. To be honest, he was pretty damn impressed. John raised an eyebrow._

_“So you expect all of that just for tea?”_

_The boy shook his head adamantly._

_“No, not just for tea… Once they trust you, they’ll join you. So you sacrifice a few things now, and in a few months you’ll have workers to train and new soldiers to help fight… And, in the meantime, you also get tea.”_

_“What about you?” Reese frowned._

_“What about me?”_

_“Everyone is getting something out of this deal, except you… So what do you want?”_

_And now the kid was back to being nervous, looking down at the table as he played with his hands. Eventually he shrugged._

_“Teach me to fight.”_

_“We’re going to.”_

_Reese paused for a moment and then shook his head._

_“No… **You** teach me.” _

_John went rigid while internally grabbing every emotion that was threatening to rise to the surface and strangling it. He forced his face into a neutral expression. The kid obviously realized he’d made a mistake because he sunk inwards, hunching as he focused all his attention on the surface of the table._

_John couldn’t. It wasn’t that he shouldn’t, or even that he didn’t- he made a habit of assessing as many kids as he could before sending them to fight- he just **couldn’t**. Not this soon after Kate, and especially not Kyle Reese. _

_He couldn’t get attached, couldn’t start to care because he knew there was only one way it could ever end. One day he was going to send Reese back in time to die; all so the ‘Great John Fucking Connor’ could be born. It was bad enough that he was going to spend the rest of the kids life lying to his face in one form or another; it was infinitely worse to even consider getting attached to the boy knowing he’ll still ultimately make the call. He took a breath and waited until the kid risked a glance back up at him. He kept his tone commanding and emotionless; since Kate it was the only one he used with any confidence._

_“Basic training won’t start until you’re eleven, but I’ve assigned you to Matthew Perry’s unit; their good, and the best chance you have at learning what it takes to fight and survive. For now you’ll be helping to clean and maintain their equipment, pass along reports, and generally learn everything you can as fast as you can by observation… Perry’s a good soldier, and equally competent teacher- and a great leader; he’ll be good for you…. In the meantime I’ll arrange space, blankets, and food for the kids, I’ll give Perry the details and he’ll pass them to you to manage. We need every able body we can get- and we don’t have the resources for free loading, so get those kids out of the tunnels and into this army… Keep your tea stash; the others might not want it now, but when the weather turns icy they’ll change their tune. Dismissed.”_

_Reese went to open his mouth and John cut him off, adding force to his words._

_**“Dismissed, soldier.”** _

_With that the kid shot up, his chair crashing to the floor as he bolted from the mess. John watched him go then dropped his head into his hands, taking several deep breaths hoping it would somehow help; it didn’t. He’d always made a point of acknowledging his fuck ups then figuring out how badly he’d done so. He didn’t even have to try to know exactly how bad that had just gone. He growled and jerked back suddenly, clenching his hand into a fist and slamming it into the table._

_**“Fuck!”** _

_Which also didn’t help, but at least the throbbing pain gave him something else to focus on. He stood up with a sigh and left the room. It was a relatively quiet night; maybe he would be lucky and get more than five minutes of sleep tonight._

_And maybe a wish granting wizard would suddenly spring from the earth and cause Skynet to have the mechanical version of a brain aneurism while Judy Garland sang ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow’._

_He stalked back to his room and shut the door, hating the way the large empty space echoed everything back; which was quite the trick considering as a kid he’d had closets that were bigger than this space. Instead of going to bed he went to the desk and started reading through reports and attack strategies. Michelle’s team had stumbled on a weapons manufacturing plant during there last wide patrol. Supplies were low and this strike would not be with the intent to destroy but to seize control. Unfortunately destructive mayhem was a cheaper body count, and John knew this strike was going to cost them dearly in lives._

_He needed those kids out of the tunnels because in a few months they were going to need every able person they could get._

_He considered just giving up when he realized he just read the same map three times without processing any of it, but he just couldn’t bring himself to sleep. He knew he was killing himself by degree- and exhaustion wasn’t just going to get himself killed but a lot of other people- but right now real life horrors were a better alternative to the ones his dreams offered. He reached over and pulled on a few reports hoping he’d have better luck with them…_

* * *

 

_**Skynet was close, he could feel it. It was in the way the walls thrummed and warm air circulated with assistance from giant fans. He’d lost a lot of good people, so many people, to take this place; but it was over. What were a few thousand lives in comparison to ending this hell? Fate and destiny- they were lies; a joke. Just another line from the same script he’d been following since birth. He was going to kill Skynet with his bare hands; and if he died in the process- well really that was just poetic justice, wasn’t it? They’d been at each others throats since before either of them was born; intertwined freaks of nature who’d earned the right to die together.** _

_**Hell, all considered- they were practically family.** _

_**The walls were running with something. It looked like blood, but it couldn’t be. Machines didn’t bleed, and John had stopped feeling his own injuries years ago. The quiet was worrying, and the soft sounds of crying were even worse. Skynet didn’t cry; it couldn’t possibly even understand what the action meant.** _

_**John wouldn’t cry, so Skynet couldn’t cry; because he was human and Skynet was inhuman- and that couldn’t change, because fate told them it couldn’t.** _

_**He walked into the large, circular metal room and froze as he realized there was lush green grass under his feet and sunlight streaming through the whirling fan above. He looked up, feeling true warmth for the first time in years and just let himself exist for a moment before another wave of sobbing made him focus on the center of the room. The crying figure looked like a small, male child. But machines were expert infiltrators- and Skynet was the master of them; if anyone had perfected the art of disguise it would be Skynet.** _

_**He didn’t hesitate he simply drew his gun and fired every shot into the chest and head of the machine. Only, something was wrong because machines didn’t bleed but this one was and the blood was spreading through the grass and making the green go away. John dropped the gun and walked over to the slumped figure, jerking it back and watching as the body tipped back slowly to reveal an impossibly recognizable mangled face.** _

_**Kyle Reese.** _

_**To his left, in the shadows, a harsh metallic laugh echoed through the room; five barking laughs that repeated over and over like a skipping record- getting louder and more painful after each cycle. He turned, not wanting to but moving away, gagging and whimpering when he saw the broken remains of Kate; wires twisting in and out of her, merging with her into a wall of servers, and a curved computer screen where her chest used to be. The laughter suddenly cut off, and the not-Kate gave a smile that was anything but comforting.** _

_**“You’ve always been incredibly skilled at killing the people you love the most, John. It’s what I’ve admired most about you all these years. But then, what is life but the fate we’ve carved by the bodies at our feet?”** _

_**The thing laughed again, its voice going deeper and multi-tonal as it spread Kate’s arms wide and shouted.** _

_**“Behold the savior- John Connor, gaze upon the master- Skynet; Kings of Kings and bringers of death! Look upon our mighty works and despair.”** _

_**And then John noticed what the monitor in Kate’s chest was displaying; a countdown. It clicked to zero and they were both engulfed in a sea of white.** _

* * *

 

_John snapped awake with a gasp, jerking in his seat at the desk and causing it- and him- to go crashingdown, cursing as the back of his head connected with the edge of the bed frame. For a moment he simply blinked back the lights dancing across his vision as he took large heaving breaths and tried not to scream. Apparently his mind had decided to get creatively metaphysical with his dreams. He tried to laugh it off, but the noises that came out didn’t sound like laughter and he wasn’t exactly sure what it would turn into if he let it continue. He bit back the sound and shuffled so his back was resting on the cool stone of the wall. He brought is knees up to his chest and wrapped his shaking hands around them._

_It was only after he’d rested his chin on his knees that it occurred to him he hadn’t done this after a nightmare since he was a kid. Fitting considering he felt as helpless as one. For a while he just stayed there concentrating on breathing and letting the tremors work there way out of his system. By the time they were done he’d come to one obvious, logical conclusion. He wasn’t okay; he wasn’t even close._

_But the only person he’d trusted to see the worst parts of himself was scattered ash in building rubble. This time there wasn’t anyone left to put Humpy Dumpy back together again, and really it wasn’t fair to even ask. His pain wasn’t unique; he wasn’t the special little snowflake that everyone should coddle just because someone he loved had died. It was the end of the world, everyone had lost people. He didn’t have time for this, and the resistance didn’t deserve this, and he needed to get his shit together and deal._

_**Its easy John, you just run in a straight line. You run and you don’t. Look. Back.** _

_He took another deep breath and then forced himself to his feet. Perks of command meant that he a small basin with running water in his room and he used it to rinse the lingering effects of the dream off his face. He didn’t look **good** \- half starved and haunted as they all were, no one looked **good** \- but hopefully he looked better than slightly warmed over death. Then he left his room and started to walk. He didn’t go to the command center, because he was pretty sure Lexington’s joke about beating him into unconsciousness if he spent another night stalking it wasn’t as much jest as she claimed. _

_He walked aimlessly for a while, enjoying the quiet. Eventually he realized that he did in fact have a destination in mind. He’d been slowly making his way towards the dog kennels; towards Cameron. He entered into the room, the dogs perking up and watching him attentively. All except for Cameron, who was curled around a small figure who’d somehow managed to worm his way into her pen. He snorted softly as he came nearer and the dog lifted her head. He gave it a scratch and whispered._

_“A woman’s work is never done, huh girl?”_

_Cameron just gave her tail a wag. And John silently sat down just outside the pen, taking the opportunity to study the boy. Reese was young, but he looked a lot younger when he was sleeping. Of course, the kid was small for his age, probably because of conditions in the camp. But from what he’d seen, and what he’d heard, that small frame hid a lot of strength. Reese had spent 4 years living inside the camp- and only 1 of those years would have been registered. That meant he would have lived his first three in constant threat of death by starvation, hypothermia, malice, or the Machines. The only reason Reese lived long enough for John to find him was because he’d clearly come pre-wired with lot of brains and one hell of a survival instinct._

_The little of the reports he’d retained from earlier made one thing clear- the kid had spent his time here learning the bases routines and looking after the other kids from the camp. Some of the older ones had already come forward to join and the rest were mimicking the example of their leader. Fear kept them in the tunnels, but they were venturing out at a much faster rate than usual and reports confirmed that they were even trying to help in small ways; odd jobs here and there that seemed to magically take care of themselves._

_Reese had taken what he’d learned of John and used it to draw him out to talk. And when he had, he used the only bargaining chip he had to try and make life easier for the people he was caring for. It hadn’t even occurred to the kid to try and get something for himself until John had asked._

_…. And promptly stomped all over him for it._

_He sighed, absently stroking the dogs head and neck as he watched Reese sleep. Truth was it hadn’t occurred to John that they might have been close. The picture his mother had painted was of a stoic soldier ready to fight and die for what he believed in, while future John Connor issued the commands. As a kid, he’d always envisioned they would meet over mission briefings and in combat, but never anywhere else. The idea of sending **that** soldier to save his mother and become his father had still been freakishly twisted, but somehow manageable. _

_The idea that the kid currently sleeping with a dog would one day stand up and volunteer for a suicide mission was horrifying. And yet, there was a part of him that **wanted** to get to know this kid. _

_Kyle Reese as portrayed by Sarah Connor had been an incorruptible figure; an example of sorts- but not necessarily an obtainable, or even overly human, one. **This** Reese was a scared kid adapting to a completely new environment who still managed to show more determination and balls than any one person had the right to display. _

_And John still didn’t have a clue as to what the fuck he should do. Whether he wanted Reese in his life or not, there would always be walls between them. He was barely functioning after losing Kate- opening up to someone knowing he was ultimately going to get killed would eventually drive him insane._

_He probably would have continued spiraling in his thoughts if it wasn’t for a small, pained noise coming from the pen. John jumped to awareness and focused his attention on the two in the cage. Cameron made a soft noise and nuzzled the boy, who made a slightly louder noise. John was more than familiar with that sound; he just wasn’t sure what to do about it when someone else besides him was making it. The boy cried out again and jerked sharply in his sleep and John was moving before his brain was even aware of his intentions, shifting into a crouch as he reached his arm in and shook the boys shoulder gently._

_“Hey, its okay- you’re safe. Wake up.”_

_Reese shot awake, jerking away from his hand and looking around wildly. John pulled his hand from the pen and raised both of them reassuringly, but the kid pulled back even more when he realized who had found him. John tried to smile warmly._

_“It’s okay, don’t worry. I couldn’t sleep so I thought I sit with Cameron a bit. Looks like you beat me to it.”_

_The boy just rubbed the sleep from his eyes. John sighed._

_“Nightmare?”_

_Reese nodded._

_“Bad?”_

_He nodded again, vigorously._

_“Yeah. Mine to.”_

_“You get nightmares?”_

_He watched as the kid covered his mouth, as if expecting John would suddenly cut him down for daring to speak. And, well, fair enough; he’d earn that mistrust. John just nodded and sighed._

_“Oh yeah- all the time… Gets bad enough I’ve actually started a bit of a competition- ‘Me vs. Sleep’. I was doing pretty well for the last couple of days, but Sleep got in a cheap shot tonight and now I’m down here talking to you.”_

_Reese sat forward a little, his eyes softening._

_“It was bad?”_

_John paused then nodded._

_“Yeah it was.”_

_He snorted._

_“Of course, it didn’t help that I was sitting in a damn chair and almost gave myself a concussion when I flailed awake like a maniac and tipped the frigging thing over.”_

_Reese giggled and then his eyes widened and he stammered._

_“Sorry.” John waved a hand and gave him a wry smile_

_“No, by all means- mock my pain…”_

_For a moment the kid just stared at him, and then motioned at the opening in the pen._

_“Can you move so I can get out?”_

_John blinked and moved out of the way._

_“Oh right… Out of curiosity- why were you sleeping there in the first place?”_

_As he slid out of the dog pen Reese looked at him like the answer was obvious._

_“It’s safe and she’s warm.”_

_John snorted because that really was obvious._

_“In my defense I’d like to re-mention the whole ‘not sleeping, possible concussion’ thing.”_

_Reese didn’t say anything, he just stood there staring. Eventually he spoke._

_“So… What now?”_

_And slow as John was tonight, even he knew the kid wasn’t just talking about right this minute. He was giving John an opportunity and an out. And he still wasn’t sure which one he wanted to take. He might never admit it to anyone else, but he was **scared**. Scared of what would happen if he let Reese in, and scared of what would happen if he didn’t. He’d always wondered what his father was really like, and now he had the chance to see for himself; but it would make everything he had to do harder. It would cost him to care. _

_But, like General Brewster says- if you can’t do something smart, do something right. So, fuck it, it was time to stop thinking tactically and just try winging it. He smirked at Reese._

_“So, what are the chances you actually **want** to go back to sleep?” _

_The boy blinked._

_“None.”_

_“You ever play ‘go fish’ before?”_

_He shook his head with a confused expression; John prodded._

_“Have you ever played **any** kind of card game before?” _

_Again Reese shook his head. John raised an inquiring eyebrow._

_“You know ‘Me vs. Sleep’ is a lot easier to win when you tag-team. I’m up for teaching you as many games as I can remember before morning if you are.”_

_And when he saw Kyle’s answering smile, John allowed himself to believe they just might be able to figure this thing out._

* * *

 

**1984**

When everything was said and done the sun was already beginning to set. But if Erik was honest, John was actually a pretty good at teaching the mechanical shit and it had kinda been fun. Of course when the dude offered to teach him how to siphon gas; he’d politely stated he knew the principle behind the technique and would walk to the city before he’d be desperate enough to get down on a fuel hose. That had made John laugh so hard he’d leaned on the car for support, although Erik couldn’t understand why for the life of him. But when they put the key into the ignition and the car started up on the second try, Erik almost felt like he’d won the lottery. He gave a whoop of triumph and then settled into the passenger seat as John put their gear in the trunk and got into the driver’s side. Closing the doors, John turned to him.

“Okay… There is very little I wouldn’t do for a shower right now; and I know you’re tired and hungry. So, happen to know a place that can offer bath and bed without having to pay for it?”

Erik shrugged.

“How picky are you?”

John looked at him incredulously.

“Guess.”

Erik rolled his eyes, because yeah, that was a pretty stupid question in retrospect.

“I know a place. It’s got beds, bath, and food- plus, it’s walking distance to where we need to go, and I’m pretty sure the guy would be willing to let us park the car at the house”

John shrugged.

“Can you direct me there from here?”

Erik smirked.

“No problemo.”

And that caused another, smaller, round of laughter that Erik knew he didn’t have a hope in hell of understanding. So they left through the gate- John taking the time to lock it because the dude could be obsessive about the weirdest things- and were on there way. At first Erik had been worried that John was going to prove to be a psycho- or just clueless- behind the wheel, but apparently driver’s ed. was still a thing in the future because they made it to 5th Street without anyone dying or even screaming in fear.

And _maybe_ he was starting to like the way the cars engine rumbled or the way it kicked up its revs when accelerating. But that was only because he’d put sweat and one bloody knuckle into getting it going. **Not** because he was starting to think it was cool. And he absolutely did not put a protective hand on the hood when Michael came out of the house and asked what the hell that piece of shit was doing on his lawn.

Of course that was overshadowed by the sudden realization that maybe putting John in Michael in close proximity might not have been the smartest idea he’d ever had.

“Erik, who the fuck is that?”

To late now.

Michael wasn’t really bad, but he wasn’t exactly nice either. Erik occasionally played delivery boy for him- small parcels and messages mostly, because the cops hazed kids a hell of a lot less than they did adults- and in return Michael made sure he could walk down most streets without too much trouble. The man also didn’t expect any additional ‘favors’ from Erik, so that won him a lot of points in his book. Unfortunately, the word ‘thug’ also worked in conjunction with Michael, and he’d seen first hand what happened to people that gave him a reason to hate them. He was pretty sure John wouldn’t take a natural liking to someone like that. This wasn’t exactly helped by the ‘I’m already imagining all the ways I could kill you’ vibe John was giving off. Actually, it was like watching two alpha dogs silently snap and snarl at each other. He rolled his eyes and stepped between them.

“Okay boys, before either of you whip it out to measure or go pissing on trees, the **mature** one of the group is telling you both to play nice… Michael, this is John- and I’m telling you now, he’s alright. I’m also telling you he’s _not_ someone you want to fuck with… John, this is Michael- and he’s okay to. He doesn’t target kids and he usually doesn’t start any fight he doesn’t have to. So this is a point where I’m asking you to _back the fuck off_.”

And yeah, he’ll be honest, he almost dropped his jaw when John up and did. Not that he was under any allusion that it still might not go pear shaped if Michael got a case of the stupids; but, _shit_ , the guy just straight up did what he’d said, just like John promised he would. A lot of people made promises, most didn’t keep them. It made him wonder about everything else John had said because if he kept to even half of it then _holy fuck_ he’d just got his very own super soldier! He turned to Michael and damn if the guy didn’t seem to be realizing some of the same. He smiled.

“Look Michael. John’s new here. Um, **very** new, and I agreed to show him around and teach him the ropes, all that kinda shit. But we could use a place to crash tonight. I told him to try here, because I thought you might be a good guy for him to know… And dude, _trust me_ , John’s the kind of guy you want to know.”

“Does _John_ get a say in this by any chance?”

Erik looked over and saw John staring back with eyebrows raised. He gave the guy a wry grin.

“Right now? Not as much as you might think.”

He knew John wouldn’t leave it at that, and so he leaned against the car and crossed his arms.

“Look, you said you needed supplies. Money, guns, and ID. Fine, I know where to get some of that- Michael here can set you up to get the rest. Now whether that costs you money or you pay it back through odd jobs is up to you two… But what you have to understand now is the things you need the most are the things hardest to get because they’re illegal. And nice people don’t sell things like that, nasty mother fuckers do. You don’t have to be friends with him, shit, you don’t even have to like him- but Michael’s the best of a bad bunch, trust me.”

Michael snorted.

“Still a mouthy little fucker, I see.”

Erik raised his middle finger, not taking his eyes off of John as he reply.

“Eat me, cupcake.”

Michael barked a laugh and then turned to John.

“So… Money, fake ID’s, and guns… I take it your planning on starting some shit.”

John didn’t answer right away, he just kept looking at Erik- and it was starting to make him nervous. Just when he was about to do something about it, John snapped his gaze over to Michael.

“No- I’m planning on finishing some shit… But not here, and not right now. Right now it’s all about the prep work. If everything goes to plan, when the fireworks finally do happen, it’s not going to be anywhere near here.”

“Yeah? And if everything doesn’t go to plan?”

“Then it’s not going to matter where the hell you are.”

Michael turned to him, but pointed at John. “Is this guy for real?”

Erik suddenly had a lot more empathy for John’s situation. He sighed.

“Yep… Now, are you going to let us in or not?”

“What makes you think I want **either** of you in my house?”

Erik smiled.

“Because, I know you… You appreciate a bit of crazy, and besides, now you’re curious.”

For a moment the guy just stared at the two of them and then snorted and started walking to the front door, motioning them to follow as he muttered.

“What the fuck am I doing? I’m going off the fucking deep end, that’s what. Fuck my life.”

Erik just chuckled and raised his voice.

“You know, you don’t have to worry- he’s not nearly as bad as he seems once you get to know him.”

And if he was directing that comment towards both of them, well it really didn’t make it any less true.


End file.
